


My sweet Amelia

by Starkspectacular



Category: No Fandom
Genre: F/M, My characters, My work - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkspectacular/pseuds/Starkspectacular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this for some reason, I hope you like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My sweet Amelia

I was sitting by the lake of a foreign country with the girl I loved one day. It was summer, hot and humid and fireflies floated up to skim across the stilled water. I remember a large beech tree being our only shade as we sat on the grass with arms around each other and cheeks pressed into shoulders. There was a smell of lavender and honeysuckle in the air, and a fragrance I can only describe as the changing of the seasons. She had her hand entwined in mine, and my hand was entwined in hers.

I remember waking up one morning and my bag was packed. I was set to enlist in the American army, ninth brigade and along with some of my friends we sat in the back of a car that drove us into unknown territory. We had a lot of laughs, smoked a few durries while playing cards on over turned wooden crates. We killed a few Germans, we came back as ghosts. The trenches were a bad place to be.

My sweet Amelia couldn’t cope with my absent mind or my shadowy ways. She tried to take care of me but I was nothing like the man I once was. Like the soldier I pretended to be. Sure enough I was rewarded for my exploits in the war, I have medals that line the walls of my bed side, but none of them near the pretty picture of my sweet Amelia.

I remember that she was told she couldn’t make babies. It was a few months after our day of wed and she’d told me she’d always wanted babies. I could give her babies, and I tried to give her them oh hell did I try. I gave her as much as I could but when we went to the Doctor and the doctor told her she couldn’t make babies she got low.

I remember my sweet Amelia and me went traveling all around the world. I remember that we used to make fun of the way those Italian people talked and walked.

But most of all, I remember my sweet Amelia’s talk of them angels. Them angels that she was so sure were gonna come take her away because she couldn’t make babies. She was sure of it and she wanted it. To be in the arms of those angels carrying a new born baby. My sweet Amelia always wanted babies.

Her talk sometimes irritated me. I’d yell, tell her to stop with the nattering about those god damned angels. They weren’t real, damnit!

If angels were real, then why were our men lying face down in the trenches still? Why were our men never coming home to their wives?

I remember that argument and how she stormed out of the house, the little house by the lake. I remember how she said she’d rather be with the angels that with me. I remember how that car came and hit her squarely in the hip.

I remember the screaming and I remember it was me.

My sweet Amelia died on a hot summers day in June, with tears on her face and a crooked neck. I remember I dressed her in that pale yellah gown she always liked, and whispered sweet nothings in her ear once more. I’d comb her hair with the silver brush and make sure she had her favourite book with her in the silk resting box. She would have liked that.

I told her the angels had her now, my sweet Amelia. I told her “Don’t you look back now at this old fool, he ain’t got nothin’ for you no more.”

And my sweet Amelia went away.

I remember the years passed and I still live in our little house by the lake, with its creaky porch swing and the smell of honeysuckle in the summer. I recall my sister coming to live with me with her baby boy, Jonah she’d called him. Said she’d called him Jonah ‘cause my sweet Amelia had said that was the name she had all picked out for our boy. I helped Jonah catch fireflies till I was too old and crooked to move from my porch chair.

I remember when my sweet Amelia sat in that chair opposite me. I remember that she used to sit and sew clothes, darn socks and such. She’d sip tea, and sometimes just watched the little lake in front of our house.

I remember that. I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget her. Never forget my sweet Amelia. 


End file.
